


Brotherhood

by loves_books



Series: Mama B [2]
Category: A-Team (2010), A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BA/Face friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult mission, BA goes back to visit his Mama and takes Face with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherhood

“Scooter!” She’s waiting on her front step when the van finally pulls up in front of her house, and almost immediately her boy is climbing out of the driver’s seat and heading straight for her open arms. “Baby!”

“Hey, Mama!” He wraps her up in his strong embrace, and, just as she always does, she buries her face into his chest, letting him take her weight. “Missed you.” 

He sounds tired, her son, and it sparks that same worry that it always does. He’d sounded exhausted on the telephone, still so determined to come see her for her birthday even though his team were only just back from what was apparently a very difficult job. 

“I missed you too, baby.” Pulling back from him just enough to get a good look at him, she studies his face carefully. “You okay? Really?”

“Really, Mama. I’m fine, we’re all fine.” He doesn’t look as tired as he sounds, to be fair, though there is a healing graze on his left temple that makes her frown. As if to distract her, Scooter leans down and kisses her cheek, tightening his arms around her waist once more. “It’s fine. Happy birthday, Mama.”

“Thank you, sweetheart!” Her birthday was two days ago, but this is the best present she could have asked for, having her baby boy back with her.

The sound of a van door clicking shut reminds her that he hasn’t come alone, and she pulls out of his embrace to greet one of her other boys as he comes around to the path. In contrast to her Scooter, Templeton Peck does look exhausted, pale and clearly drained, dark smudges under his bright blue eyes, and she swallows down her instinct to make a fuss, smiling instead as she accepts the large bouquet of flowers he holds out to her. 

“Happy birthday,” he says with a wide smile of his own, although she notices it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry we’re a couple of days late; got the big guy here home to you as soon as we could.”

“You know what they say: better late than never,” she tells him, stepping close and wrapping him up in a careful one-armed hug, keeping the flowers out of the way, a little worried about what injuries might be concealed under his baggy sweater. “Good to see you, Templeton.”

Just the two of them, this visit, meaning a quieter household for her than normal, when all four of her son’s team fill her life with chaos for a week or two. Pulling gently away from Face’s loose embrace, she shoos the pair of them inside, into the warmth of her kitchen, and both men settle at her table as she moves to flick the kettle on for coffee, finding a vase for her beautiful flowers. “How was the drive?” she asks, lifting a chocolate cake out of the oven – Scooter’s favourite.

“Long,” her son replies, adding, “But a lot calmer than it could’ve been, right , Face?”

“Right, buddy.” He really doesn’t sound so good, Face, and she feels her worry step up a notch. 

Carrying the cake over to the table, she takes a moment to really look at both her boys as they take it in turns to tell her about their long drive up to Chicago. That graze on Scooter’s temple is really quite nasty, she can see, although it looks clean and uninfected at least, while Face really does just look pale and tired, no visible injuries. The fact that he is dressed in a loose, faded sweater and baggy jeans rather than his usual designer wardrobe tells her there is probably much more to the story than she knows.

“Boys, boys.” She interrupts Scooter as he is describing some diner they stopped at last night, handing them each a large mug of coffee – whole milk and one sugar for her son, skimmed milk only for her adopted boy. “Just relax, okay? You’re here to rest for a bit, remember?”

Scooter heaves a sigh, offering her a little smile. “Meant to be here for your birthday, Mama,” he says, promptly stifling a yawn. “Sorry. Long drive.”

“I know, baby.” Leaning over, she presses a kiss to his forehead, close to that graze. “And I love that you came. But, no offense, you both look like you’re about dead on your feet.”

The look Scooter shoots Face speaks volumes, full of barely concealed distress. Just what happened on that last mission of theirs? Usually, she wants as few details as possible – she knows the work they do is dangerous, knows they risk their lives daily – but this time she’s longing to ask. She’d been surprised when her son told her just Face was coming up with him, rather than their whole team as planned. Apparently Hannibal had been called to some urgent meeting in DC, while Murdock had been offered the chance to get involved in some test flights, leaving Face at a loose end. 

Judging by the protective look she can see in her son’s dark eyes, none of them had wanted to leave Face by himself. The fact that Face has come suggests he didn’t want to be alone, either, though she doubts he would admit that if she asked. Cutting two generous slices of cake, she slides them across the table to her two guests, shaking her head slightly. “Get that down you, boys,” she tells them, resisting the urge to just order them straight upstairs to bed.

Fetching herself a cup of tea, for a long while her kitchen is filled with nothing louder than the appreciative little noises the two Rangers make as they demolish her cake. Exhaustion seems to have no impact on their appetites, she’s pleased to see – both of them go back for seconds, then Scooter happily helps himself to a third as she refills their coffee mugs.

“This is so good, Mama,” her little boy tells her, speaking around a mouthful of cake, and Face chuckles softly, a wonderful sound.

“What happened to your table manners?” the handsome soldier teases his friend gently. “Get you home and you turn into a teenager again!”

Laughing along with him, she leans closer to Face and nudges his shoulder. “Happens every time,” she whispers, laughing louder at Scooter’s faux-hurt look. To her relief, Face leans into her a fraction rather than leaning away.

Every time this complicated young man visits, she is all too aware of the fine line she has to tread with him. Things have gotten easier over the years, far easier than that first difficult visit when her son had only been with his team a year, back when Face still hadn’t known how to respond to her in her role as Mother to them all. He calls her Mama now, more often than not, and he has been able to let his guard down around her at times, though she still feels he is holding himself back, hiding his feelings.

This is the first time Scooter has brought Face to visit by himself, though, so perhaps she’ll finally be able to get through some of his walls. Over the past four years, the team have been busy, barely in the country for more than a couple of weeks at a time, and she has only seen her beloved son rarely. Two visits last year, although one was for two whole weeks over Christmas, and even though she is more than used to it – he phones her every spare moment he can – it never gets easier. 

The whole team have been to stay a couple of times, and each time is just as chaotic and entertaining as that first visit, back when she had been trying to figure out the three crazy characters her son spends his life with. The genius of Hannibal, so protective over all his boys, so proud of them all and so very much in love with Face, even though the two men still hide it well. Murdock’s own special brand of insane, full to the brim with energy and life, yet with enough problems to weigh anyone down – he isn’t always bouncing off the walls, sometimes he is quiet and subdued, and she’s learning how to bring the pilot out of himself when needed. Face, so complex, buried deeply beneath his protective layers, gradually opening up to her.

Once or twice, just Scooter and Murdock have come to stay, and she has had to smile to think of Hannibal and Face off somewhere, enjoying what precious time they have together, away from their chosen lives, where they have to hide the love they feel for each other. The two men are only a little more demonstrative with their love than on their first visit, when she had spent the first few days trying to figure out the exact nature of their relationship. Now, seeing Face without Hannibal, she feels sorry for the young man, knowing just how much he must be missing the colonel.

“So, what are those two teammates of yours up to, exactly?” she asks now, hoping to steer the conversation a little more towards this last mission of theirs without having to ask directly. She knows, if she does just ask, Scooter will brush it off as nothing, and Face will skilfully change the topic with those conman skills of his. “Hannibal’s off in Washington, right?”

“Yeah.” It’s Face that answers, and she watches as the handsome Ranger reaches up to run one hand through his messy curls, a barely noticeable wince passing over his face. “Hobnobbing with the top brass, or something. Should only be for a few days, then he’s gonna fly out to join us here, if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course that’s okay. Be good to see him again.” It’s been a while since she’s seen the colonel, though she’s spoken to him a few times on the phone. Both Scooter and Murdock call her regularly, while Face tends to send her little gifts like flowers or chocolates, always with a beautiful little note attached. Hannibal only calls when something has happened, like two years ago when Scooter was hospitalised in Afghanistan after being shot in the leg – his calm voice had settled her terror at hearing of the incident, and thankfully Scooter had been back on his feet very quickly. When Face doesn’t offer any further details, she turns to her son instead. “And Murdock?”

Scooter finishes his mouthful of cake this time before answering. “Crazy fool got the chance to do some test flights for some new plane.” Her boy visibly shudders at the mention of flying, though he continues, deep voice a little rougher than before. “He’s gonna be so hyped up for the next week, he’s better off with those other flyboys for a while.”

“He didn’t need a break after your last mission?” She buries the question in action, carrying her empty cup over to the kettle to make herself more tea. “Sounds like Hannibal will get some time to relax, at least, when he gets here.”

“That will be a break, for Murdock. Besides, he had it easier, last time out.” Face’s voice is quiet, and she resists the urge to go to him, wrap him up in a huge hug, knowing he still gets a little spooked. “The rest of us…” Whatever else he was about to say is lost in a huge yawn, and Scooter laughs before yawning again himself.

She can’t help but smile despite her concern, at these two young men so clearly exhausted and in need of some of her special care. There will be time enough over the next few days to find out what they’ve been through, what little they might be able to tell her at least. But for now…

“That’s enough, now, the pair of you.” She lifts Face’s empty mug from unresisting fingers, and moves quickly to pull the remnants of the cake away from Scooter before he can cut himself a fourth slice. “Go take a nap. Your beds are all made up, and I slipped a hot water bottle into yours, Face.” She knows the young man really doesn’t do well in the cold, and there is a definite chill in the air as winter approaches. “Dinner’ll be ready about seven.”

With sleepy nods, her two boys climb to their feet and start moving towards the stairs. Scooter pulls her into a quick hug, dropping a kiss onto her cheek as he whispers, “Thanks, Mama.” She watches the way her son steps aside to let Face go first, dark eyes following the taller man’s every move. She sees again that protective side of him that is always just beneath the surface, sees the way Face nods in acknowledgement, offering her a smile of his own as they disappear to their rooms.

As the sound of their footsteps on the stairs fades away, she is left alone with her thoughts. Something clearly happened to her son and his team, something that has meant they don’t want Face left alone either at Benning or in Washington, waiting by himself while Hannibal is at his meetings. Something that has brought out her son’s ‘big brother’ instincts. 

She’ll give them all the tender loving care they will take while she has them under her roof, let them sleep as much as they need to, feed them as much cake as they can eat. And for once, she thinks she really needs to know what has happened – classified or not, something has really shaken up her family, and she won’t stand for that. 

* * *

Pottering around in her tiny garden, enjoying the last of the winter sun as it starts to set, she is grateful it isn’t raining yet, or even snowing, heaven forbid. There really isn’t much that needs doing out here, her plants mostly died back already, the weeding up to scratch, but this is always something she enjoys, a way to relax and unwind after her busy life, filled with work and volunteering and friends. This time, knowing her son would be visiting, she’s been able to take the week off work, though she knows Scooter will want to come along with her to the shelter she’s been spending a few evenings a week at as a volunteer. Maybe Face will want to come along too, while he’s here, though of course she won’t pressure him into anything.

Time passes as peacefully as it always does, out here in her own little world, and she almost forgets her two houseguests until a strangled cry reaches her, drifting out through her open back door. It takes her a second to realise what it is, before she is moving, up the steps and back inside. Another cry, louder this time, and she hears the bang of a door being thrown open, followed by heavy footsteps upstairs.

Heart pounding, she moves as quickly as she can through the kitchen and to the stairs, wondering what can have happened, which of her boys cried out. As she starts to climb, slowly and carefully, her old knees not letting her hurry, she can see Scooter’s door standing open although it is still dark inside. Murmured voices from the guest room, the room where Face is, and as she reaches the top steps she slows, not wanting to disturb the two men, not knowing what has happened, what could be wrong. Something tells her it would be wrong to call out, to let them know she is there, so she takes her time, frowning hard as she looks around.

The door to the guest room is open just a crack, illuminated by the soft light of the bedside lamp, and she can see clearly her son sitting on the edge of the bed, Face held tightly in his arms. Her heart still racing, she holds herself back, watching her Scooter as he rocks his friend slowly back and forth, his deep voice murmuring indistinctly the whole time.

She can’t see much of Face at all from this angle, Scooter has him wrapped up so tightly. A nightmare, she realises with a pang of sympathy – Face is shaking, she can see that much, his head tucked tightly under her son’s chin, the blankets pooled around his waist in disarray. Face is practically in Scooter’s lap already, his hands fisted hard into the back of her son’s loose t-shirt as he clings on. As she watches, her baby boy pulls his friend even closer, shifting on the bed until he is sitting back against the headboard, bringing Face with him, keeping him close against his chest.

She watches as Scooter rests his cheek onto Face’s rumpled curls, lips still moving, speaking in that deep rumble of his, obviously words of comfort, and she can see the worry in his eyes, the frown on his brow. And she doesn’t know what to do for the best. If it was Scooter who had the nightmare, she would be there for him in a heartbeat – he rarely had bad dreams as a little boy, even after his Father died, but there have been some incidents since he joined the army, though he never tells her the details. She would hold him in her arms, rock him if he needed it, tell him he was safe now and that she would never let anything hurt him, not while he was under her roof. Her little boy, still, even though he has grown so much bigger than her.

Now, her little boy is the one doing the comforting. Her little boy is the one holding his friend, no, his brother. She can’t see Templeton’s face, though she can see the lines of tension in his toned back start to ease as Scooter continues to hold him tightly, continues to talk to him softly. How many times have they done this for each other, she wonders, feeling her eyes well up with emotion. How many night terrors must stalk them all, doing the job they do? 

Scooter looks up then, his dark eyes finding hers where she still stands still, frozen on the top stairs. He offers her a tiny smile, a sad smile, and shakes his head ever so slightly. A sign, she knows, that he has this under control. She doesn’t need to be Mama right now; her two boys have each other.

She forces a smile to her face, feeling her heart start to beat a more steady rhythm, but finds she can’t just leave. She mouths, “okay?” to her son, and he nods this time, even as Face starts to pull himself up, sitting straighter in the bed.

Quickly, but carefully, she moves away down the stairs, keeping her footsteps light. She knows Face would be mortified to know she has seen him like that, though she doesn’t think any the less of him for suffering a bad dream. She wonders if it is this last mission, playing on his mind, without Hannibal in bed beside him to keep him safe. Perhaps this is why he looks so exhausted, and again she makes a silent promise to find out a little more about what happened to them all, why Scooter was so quick to get to his friend’s side. 

She is so proud of her son in that moment, not that she isn’t proud of him always. She knows her boy doesn’t always feel so confident with his big body and deep voice, pleased now that he is able to be physical with his friend when needed, and again she wonders how many times the team have comforted each other in this manner. Face’s cry of distress is still ringing in her mind by the time she reaches the kitchen, and once more she finds herself putting the kettle on for tea, turning the radio on softly to break the silence. Thank goodness the team have each other, and that her son is a part of them. 

* * *

As the evening settles around her little house, she hears her boys waking up, moving around upstairs, and waits for them to come join her. Dinner is nearly ready – simple steak, fries and vegetables for her hungry men, so recently back from overseas – but she still doesn’t know what to say about what she saw earlier that afternoon. Doesn’t really know if it is her place to say anything.

She’s so worried about Templeton, and about Scooter as well. Physically they seem fine, or, at least, they are up and walking around – she still wants to inspect that graze on her son’s head, though she can imagine the fight she’ll have on her hands to get him to sit still long enough to get close. But nightmares, and exhaustion… 

She hears the shower turned on – in her tiny house with its thin walls, the sound of her old pipes rattling into life is impossible to miss – and shakes herself out of her thoughts. They are both safe under her roof, and, even though she’d love to have Hannibal and Murdock there with her as well, she has the time to take care of them now. Her house has been too quiet and empty recently, and she feels a smile split her face as footsteps on the stairs alert her to company.

“Hey, Mama.” It’s her son, her Scooter, and she turns from the cupboard as he sweeps her into a huge hug, lifting her off her feet completely as if she weighs nothing. To him, that’s probably true.

“Put me down!” she giggles, swatting at his shoulder with the towel she has in her hands. “Scooter! Put me down, right this instant!”

But he swings her around once before placing her carefully back on her feet, holding her waist until she has her balance back. “Couldn’t resist, Mama!” he laughs, and she’s so pleased to hear he doesn’t sound as tired as he did before. That nap maybe did one of them some good, at least. “Somethin’ smells wonderful in here!”

Adjusting her dress and combing her hair back into place with one hand, she shoos him away from the oven as he starts lifting lids and moving things around. “Get yourself away from my oven, son!” One more flick from the towel and he gives in, moving back to the table and perching himself on the edge, still with a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Oh, it’s good to see you smiling, baby!” she tells him with a smile of her own. “You sleep well?”

The smile fades a little before he replies, “Yeah, Mama. I slept okay, thanks. Needed that.”

She gives him a moment, but when he offers nothing further she feels compelled to ask, “Is he okay?”

“Think so, he went back to sleep. After.” Her son folds his huge arms across his chest defensively, dropping his chin and suddenly looking so much like a guilty little boy that she has to resist the urge to go rumple his hair. “Sorry we disturbed you.”

“Disturbed me?” Incredulous, she crosses the room in two steps and tugs him down into a chair, sitting opposite him and holding his huge hands in her own. “I don’t care about that, baby. I just want to help, both of you. Bad dreams?”

A tight nod is her only reply, but she does seize the opportunity to move one hand up to his forehead, stroking gentle fingers over the skin near that graze, not quite touching the damaged area. As gentle as she can, but still he flinches away from her, reaching up to take her hand again and holding it tightly. “It’s okay, Mama. Nothin’ bad. Docs said to leave it open so it can heal up proper.”

“That’s not the whole story, now, is it?” He holds her hands tighter still when she tries to get free. “Bosco Albert Baracus, baby, just what happened to you all?”

The brief moment of fight seems to go out of her son and he lets her loose, his dark eyes flicking to the open door and the stairs before meeting her worried gaze. Again, she can see that mixture of protection and concern in his eyes, and she knows deep down that whatever happened had Face at the centre of it. “Mama…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head. “Was just a job gone wrong, Mama. But we got it done, mission success and all that. We’re all okay now, and we been through worse. Honest.” He forces a smile, sitting up a little straighter. “Now, what can I do to help with dinner?”

She manages to catch his arm before he can get away from her. “I know I usually don’t want to know,” she whispers, and he goes still in her gentle hold, not making eye contact, listening. “But I can see the worry in your eyes. Something hurt one of your brothers, right? Someone? And, I don’t know, you couldn’t help him?” A fraction of a nod, and she knows she is getting close. “Baby, tell me what you’ve been through, please.”

The longest pause, the silence suddenly louder when the shower is switched off. Face will be down soon, and this moment between them will vanish. They can speak freely and openly about almost anything, mother and son, when time allows. They’ve been each other’s whole world since her husband was killed – yes, there are aunts and uncles and cousins galore, but they are a family of two at heart. He’s given her enough trouble over the years, goodness knows, lied to her time and again in his difficult teenage years, but they’ve reached a wonderful point now, a time for real honesty about their feelings and their lives, and she thanks Hannibal Smith for that, the colonel and his crazy, unique team. 

But with something like this, the details of the jobs they do… She knows she is asking something new of her son, and she swallows hard, wondering if she is prepared for whatever answer he gives her. If he can even answer her, if it is his story to tell, if there are confidences involved – 

“Was somethin’ so simple, Mama.” Scooter sinks back down into his chair, shaking his head slowly, one eye on the door still. “All the shit we do – sorry, the stuff we do…” She bites down the instinct to smack him around the head for that. No bad language in her house, but she lets it go, acknowledging his apology with a little nod, taking his hands back into hers and squeezing as he continues. “All the stuff we do, and we nearly lost Face in the water. I can’t… the where and the why ain’t important, but he nearly drowned. Hell, he did drown. Hannibal got to him first, but it was… It was too close.”

Pain in her son’s deep chocolate eyes, and a matching pain flares in her chest at the vague image he has painted for her. Hannibal having to pull his lover from the, what, sea or lake or pool, having to resuscitate him. Scooter and Murdock elsewhere, unable to help. “Oh, my boy… But he’s okay, now, you say?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. I should’ve been there, but I… I should’ve been the one to get him out, Mama, I was meant to be right there.” His hands tighten around hers until his grip becomes painful, then he seems to shake himself, relaxing a fraction. “He says he don’t remember much of it, but his dreams tell me otherwise.”

“Dreams will tend to do that,” she hears herself say, wanting to offer him more comfort but not knowing where to start. Even without knowing all the details, the where and the why as Scooter put it, it is so typical of her son to blame himself. And poor Face, to be going through that, nightmares and half-remembered memories. Poor Hannibal too, and she suddenly feels a strong urge to call the colonel up right now, her oldest adopted son, and tell him she loves him and that she will take care of their boys for now, until he can join them. He must be so worried about Face, so far away from his lover after coming so close to losing him.

Scooter suddenly tilts his head at the door, eyes sharp, and a moment later she hears the distinctive sounds of someone moving around. “Don’t make a fuss, Mama, please,” he whispers urgently. “If he wants to talk, let him talk, but you know how he can be - ” 

“Don’t worry, baby.” She does indeed know, aware that Face doesn’t like to show weakness, doesn’t want to let his guard down for even a moment, though he seems to relax around his team and is learning to relax around her. She knows not to push him, even after several years. She stands with Scooter, pressing a long, firm kiss to his cheek before moving away back to the oven, where she needs to make sure the fries haven’t burned at the edges. “I’m glad you all came back home. Just tell me one thing?”

“Mama - ”

“Did you get the people responsible?” Scooter’s sharp intake of breath is audible and, despite the grim topic, she likes that she can still surprise her son.

When it comes, she can hear the granite in her boy’s voice, and knows once more that she doesn’t envy the enemies he fights. “Yeah, Mama. I got them all good.”

“Good.” And before she can reassure him further, show him that he has managed to protect his family of choice, defend them at least, Face’s light footsteps can be heard on the stairs, and the serious conversation is swept away as the two men immediately tease each other, Scooter commenting on the fact that his brother smells like a fruit shop after his shower, while Face gives as good as he gets by suggesting engine oil isn’t really an acceptable cologne.

But as she starts to serve up their simple dinner, as her two boys fill her kitchen with chatter and energy, she can see the matching shadows in both blue and brown eyes. Face seems more rested, but she’ll have to watch him closely, she thinks, still too pale and his laughter a little forced. And Scooter, still feeling like he’s failed, can’t fool her for even a moment. 

* * *

The boys make short work of dinner – every time they visit she underestimates just how much food these growing men can put away, although Face fills up on vegetables while Scooter can never get enough of her home fries – and the atmosphere remains light and easy. She’s always been amazed by the different relationships between the four team members, and yet again she notices the calm, relaxed way in which the two men relate to each other. Never any drama between Scooter and Face, not while they’re with her, though she can certainly image they’ve clashed in the past. Both strong personalities, certainly, each as stubborn as the other.

Despite the obvious differences in their upbringings – Scooter growing up with her and their extended family, Face shuttled from children’s home to foster home and back again with no stability or real love in his young life – they have enough similarities which seem to let them relate easily to each other. Both city boys, certainly, while Murdock and Hannibal are country boys at heart. She’s still not quite sure where the colonel actually grew up, but he’s mentioned horses and farming in passing, so she imagines somewhere out west, maybe, while Murdock is obviously a Texas boy, born and raised. 

After they’ve eaten, and the boys have each finished their second beer of the night, they move through to the living room to just keep talking. Quieter, certainly, without Murdock and Hannibal, though her two guests keep the conversation flowing easily with funny stories about the team, never straying anywhere near the last mission or why they are both so shattered. Murdock apparently has adopted an invisible dog, which she finds worryingly easy to believe, and has taken to blaming his new pet for the constantly missing chocolate cookies she’s been sending Scooter. The fact that the pilot usually has chocolate smeared across his face while denying everything seems to make no difference, and she laughs along with Face as Scooter does a quick impression of Murdock walking his invisible dog, tripping over the leash.

When their dinners have settled a little, she offers them dessert, feeling the need for something sweet herself, and the boys exchange a quick look before Face makes an excuse and slips out to the van. After a moment, Scooter leaves the room too, telling her to stay put, and together they bring in a beautiful cake, clearly professionally decorated and with a single candle – very tactful, she thinks with a smile, as she’s long since stopped counting the years – and they sing her a quick, out-of-tune verse of ‘Happy Birthday’.

Candle blown out, cake cut, they talk a little longer about anything and nothing, the evening news now playing softly on the television in the background, until Scooter’s mobile rings and he makes his excuses, already talking as he shoots out to the kitchen. “Hey, Crazy, you crashed anythin’ yet?”

“Murdock, I presume?” she asks Face, the conman leaning back into the cushions on the sofa next to her.

“Yeah, sounds like it!” He laughs a little, pulling out his own phone and checking the screen quickly. “Murdock’s checking in with Bosco; Hannibal’s gonna call me later. When he’s out of his meetings, and whatever else they’ve got planned for him.”

“He really had to go?”

She almost regrets asking, seeing how Face’s smile falls away. “He did,” comes the soft reply after a moment. “One of those things. We were late back from the last job – we would’ve had a couple of days together first, otherwise, and we would’ve got BA here for your actual birthday.”

Waving one hand, she settles back into the cushions herself, propping her feet up onto the footstool. “You know I don’t mind that, baby. You’re both here now, and that’s a wonderful treat for me, getting to fuss over you the two of you for a while.” Those blue eyes drop away from hers, drifting back towards the television, and she lets herself just watch him for a long moment, remembering that first visit when he didn’t even know how to be alone in the same room as her. Now here they are, sitting quietly together, at ease. Relatively speaking, at least, as she can see the tension in his toned muscles and the line of his jaw. She knows that has little to do with her this time. “So, your mission overran? It was a bad one for you, am I right?”

Watching his pale face, she can’t miss the frown that falls over his handsome brow for a split second before he pulls a smile back on, turning towards her and meeting her concerned gaze. “Not the best,” he acknowledges quietly. “But we’ve had worse. And the job got done.”

“Templeton.” She scolds him softly, reaching out to take his hand as that smile disappears again. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, son.”

A gamble, using that word with him, though he is the son of her heart even if not by blood. When he doesn’t pull away, instead wrapping his long fingers around her smaller ones, she lets the silence grow between them, the only sounds the soft tones of the news reporter and the occasional laugh from the kitchen where Scooter is still speaking to his other brother, one of her other sons.

“He told you,” Face eventually says, blue eyes flicking towards the door briefly. It’s not a question, more a statement of fact, and she can only nod as he continues. “I asked him not to. Seriously, I’m okay. He’s just blaming himself, like he always does.”

“He didn’t tell me much, baby. He said you nearly drowned and he should have been there…?”

A harsh bark that could have been a laugh, almost. “It wasn’t his fault, Mama. Wasn’t anyone’s fault except the idiot that pushed me out the window.” Her confusion must have shown on her face, as he squeezes her hand a little and shifts on the cushion to face her more squarely. “Most of its classified, I’m afraid, but we were in Africa, in this huge sprawling compound. Third floor office, searching for the safe, and Bosco and I got surprised by a few guards. One of them tackled me round the waist and we both went backwards out of the window.”

“Three floors up?” How is Face walking around right now? How is he even alive? This is why she doesn’t usually ask for details, she thinks with a shudder. Face looks worried about her reaction, but she doesn’t want him to stop. She knows deep down that he needs to talk about this, needs to get it out of his system. “Go on, sweetheart. It’s okay – you can tell me.”

He pauses for a long minute, and she can almost see the debate raging within him. Thankfully, he shakes himself and manages to continue. “We were right over the swimming pool,” he whispers. “We went straight in, this idiot still locked around me, fighting.”

“Must’ve still hurt, hitting the water like that.” Like hitting concrete, she would imagine, but he just shrugs, then immediately winces.

“I honestly don’t remember much after that for a while. Fighting under the water, getting tangled in the pool cleaning equipment…” Face’s voice tails off and those blue eyes drift away, focus turning somewhere internal. “Next thing I know for sure, I’m on the side of the pool with John pounding away on my chest, and Bosco’s running out of the building towards us.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, trying to blink away the tears in her eyes. “But you’re okay now, you’re safe.”

“I know.” Face brings his free hand up to his chest, rubbing gently over his sternum. “I got some good bruises from Hannibal’s resus efforts – when that man gives you chest compressions, he doesn’t hold anything back – and I had a cough for most of the way home, but I was so lucky, I know that.”

She dares to ask, “But your subconscious doesn’t quite get that yet, right?” To his confused glance, she explains, “The dreams, baby. Or nightmares, I suppose.”

This time, it is his eyes that fill with tears and she finally cracks, reaching across the sofa to pull him into her arms, careful not to put any pressure onto his sore chest. For a second she thinks he will flee, he goes so tense and stiff. But then, thank goodness, it’s like someone cuts all his strings and he collapses into her embrace, his head coming down to rest on her shoulder and his arms wrapping loosely around her waist in return. “I’m so tired,” he whispers against her neck. “But I keep waking up, little flashes of… I don’t know, flashes of something. Being under the water, fighting this assho – idiot, trying to get to the surface… Couldn’t breathe…”

“Easy, Templeton.” She rubs slow circles across his broad shoulders, feeling his breathing pick up speed, his chest heaving. “You can breathe now. You’re safe. Hannibal got to you in time.”

After a minute or two, murmuring soothing words into his ear, he settles again, though he makes no effort to pull out of her embrace. She continues to just hold him, keeping him close, until he finally speaks again. “You know Bosco’s blaming himself?”

“I got that impression.” She presses a kiss into his messy curls, sliding one hand up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly. “He said he was supposed to be there, that he should’ve been the one to get you out?”

A soft laugh against her neck. “He thinks he should’ve followed me out the window, into the pool. I keep telling him he would’ve been stupid to try it. It’s a miracle I didn’t break my neck as it was. Besides, he had three other guards to deal with, and he got the – um, got what we needed from the safe. Hannibal was right there, he got me out, though I don’t remember that. It wasn’t even five minutes, apparently, until I was out and breathing again.”

Her own chest gets tighter then. Dear god above, five whole minutes… She tightens her arms around him, blinking back her tears again, and he sinks further into her embrace, a heavy weight in her arms. He isn’t crying, she thinks, though he is still breathing hard. Minutes stretch on, the two of them just sitting together. She doesn’t know what she can say to help him through this – he should really speak to a counsellor, perhaps, though she can imagine how well that suggestion would go down – but maybe just talking about it will help. Not brushing it under the carpet and pretending everything is fine when clearly it isn’t.

With her adopted son wrapped up in her arms, it takes her longer than it probably should to realise that the sounds of the one-sided conversation from the kitchen have ceased. Turning her head slightly, not loosening her grip on Face, she sees her boy standing in the living room doorway, mobile dangling forgotten from his fingers, a look of such anguish on his dark face that her heart breaks a little. 

Face is still tucked against her neck, unaware of his teammate’s presence, and she takes a deep breath before speaking, choosing her words carefully. “My Scooter always thinks he has to be the one to take care of his team,” she murmurs into the room, lips pressed to Face’s head but eyes trained on her boy. “He’s always been the biggest, and the strongest. He sees himself as the protector – the defender of those weaker than him – and he sees himself as your big brother.”

“I’m older than him. And taller,” Face mumbles, and she tries not to laugh. 

Scooter shakes his head from the doorway, some of the distress fading from his eyes, leaning his bulk onto the frame as she continues, “Doesn’t matter. He’s your big brother, and you got hurt. And he blames himself, though it clearly wasn’t his fault.”

“It wasn’t,” comes that soft voice again. “In fact, it’s because of him the mission was a success at all. He got what we needed, then covered Hannibal when he had to help me back to the chopper. I was pretty shaky.” 

“And that wasn’t your fault, either.” She reassures him quickly, hearing the note of self-blame in Face’s tired voice. “Sounds like just what you both said – a job gone wrong. At least you all walked away from it.”

“How’d you get so wise, Mama?” At Scooter’s voice, Face stiffens and tries to pull away. She lets him up part way, taking hold of his elbows to keep him close as her son comes to perch on the coffee table near to them both. “Seriously, you amaze me every time.”

She reaches one hand out to her son and smiles at him as he takes it. She doesn’t feel very wise, not at all. She never has done. The experiences these men go through on a daily basis are completely beyond her understanding, and she wishes she knew how to help them through this better than she is. She’s never had a near-death experience like Face; something so simple, like Scooter had told her, a swimming pool rather than the bullets they must brace themselves for on each and every mission. If any of them can ever truly be braced for death – again, a shudder passes through her at the very thought of losing her baby boy, losing any of them. If a hug and some comforting words can lighten their loads, that seems the very least she can do.

“I don’t know about wise or amazing,” she says now, pushing all thoughts of death and loss away with a determined effort. “But I know you both got to find a way past this. It’s all over now, and you’re safe with me.” 

The two men share a long look, and she just watches them, waiting. There is clearly a silent conversation of sorts going on – Face quirks an eyebrow, Scooter smiles a fraction – then Face holds out a fist. The gesture is lost on her, until her son nods and holds out a fist of his own, and they meet with a little bump. Utterly adorable, and her heart just melts – a man-hug of sorts.

They really need to talk, she thinks, though they are only men. Army men at that, and probably incapable of discussing their emotions with each other. She can help with that, if they need her, or she could give them their space for now, give them a chance. They are both anything but ordinary men, after all.

“I need tea,” she announces, and both men look round at her, a little stunned as if they’d forgotten her presence.

“Let me - ” Face starts to get up, but she presses him back down into the sofa with a gentle hand on his shoulder, levering herself up at the same time.

“Stay,” she tells them. “Talk, or don’t. But just relax, the pair of you.” Leaning down, she kisses them both on the forehead once before heading towards the kitchen, gathering up the plates and the remnants of her birthday cake as she goes. “I love you both, boys.”

“Love you too, Mama,” comes the reply from not one but two voices, and she turns back briefly to see Scooter shift over into her abandoned seat next to Face. With a small smile, she leaves them to it, trying not to listen in as they start to talk. 

* * *

She sits in the kitchen, drinking her tea quietly and flicking mindlessly through one of the trashy gossip magazines she knows she shouldn’t buy yet somehow can’t resist. Which Hollywood starlet has got drunk and made a fool out of themselves this week, she wonders, shaking her head at all the stick-thin models. She was never that skinny, ever. But all the time, in the back of her mind, she wonders what her boys are talking about.

And they are talking, she can hear that much. Scooter’s deep voice and Face’s smoother one, overlapping and crossing over each other, the words unclear from where she sits but the tone so familiar to her. No anger or blame in their voices, just two brothers talking together. Whether they are talking about this last mission or just talking about the weather, well, that’s none of her business, as much as she wishes she could be a fly on the wall.

She feels sorry for both of them, the whole team really, although she knows none of them would welcome her pity. From everything Face told her, Scooter couldn’t have done anything differently, yet of course he would blame himself for not stopping his teammate’s fall from that window, and not being able to get to him sooner once he was struggling with an enemy, deep beneath the water. And Face, what an awful experience to have to go through, something he couldn’t have prepared for – no wonder he’s suffering from bad dreams, and being separated from his lover won’t help him heal. 

If she could snap her fingers and have both Hannibal and Murdock here with them right now, she would. Hannibal’s presence would settle Face better than anything she can say to him, and Murdock’s energy, if he truly hasn’t been badly affected by their last mission, might bring Scooter out of his over-protective bubble a little. Still, if wishes were horses, and all that – she’ll look after the two of her boys she does have with her, always. 

Time passes, and the boys keep talking, their voices quieter. Her keen ears can make out their growing tiredness, and, as much as she knows they do need to talk, she is still on the verge of telling them both to just go to bed when the sound of a ringing phone splits the quiet atmosphere in two. Leaning back in her chair, she sees Face hurry out of the living room, mobile pressed to his ear, before the sound of his quick footsteps can be heard on the stairs, and a moment later comes the sound of his bedroom door clicking closed. She smiles – Hannibal, at last, checking on his lieutenant.

Finishing her tea, she hears the heavier footsteps of her son as he comes to join her, and she turns her smile to him. He still looks tired, but some of the shadows have cleared from his eyes, and he smiles back at her.

“Okay, baby?” she asks him. “You talk a bit?”

He nods slowly, big arms folded across his chest. “Talked a lot, Mama. Don’t think we ever talked like that before, me an’ him.” She can believe that. Her son was never one for long speeches, but when he does talk, every word he says is important and well thought out. 

“Good, good. And you feel a bit better, now?”

“Still think I should’ve been there, but he’s right. I did the right thing, the only thing I could do. I know that. Knew it already, I guess, but knowin’ he don’t blame me…”

“Course he doesn’t blame you, baby. No one’s blaming you but you.” Climbing out of her chair, she crosses to where her son still stands in the doorway, pulling him into a loose hug. “And, as much as I know you might want to, you can’t protect all of them all the time. But I love that you try.”

He pulls her closer, resting his chin on her head. “Thanks, Mama.”

“And if I ever hear that you jumped out a third floor window, whether it’s to save someone or for any other reason…” She lets her threat hang in the air, though she knows it’s probably pointless. She’s sure they’ve all done much worse than that, doing what they do, but she really doesn’t want to know. The details of this one mission are almost too much for her.

“I get the message, Mama!” His deep laugh rumbles through her own chest, and she smiles to herself, soaking up his presence and his strength. Her baby boy has grown into a wonderful man, and she’s so very proud of him she feels she could burst. “Did I tell you how much I love you?” 

Pulling back out of his arms, she pats him on the chest once. “And I love you too. You want some hot milk before bed?” It’s still a little early, but she can tell Scooter is fading now, everything catching up to him.

“No, I’m good, thanks. I’m gonna turn in for the night, I think.” And he simply kisses her cheek, turning to head towards the stairs before pausing. “If he comes back down…”

“Don’t worry, Scooter,” she reassures him quietly. “I’ll be here.”

She watches as her son nods, some of the tension draining from his muscular shoulders. “Thanks. Night, Mama.”

“Good night, baby. Sleep well.” One of her two boys sorted, at least, and she makes herself another mug of tea before returning to the living room and settling in front of the television, listening to the comforting sounds of her boys moving around upstairs. It’s nice to have a houseful again, she thinks with a small smile as she flips through the channels idly, looking for a movie or something to catch her attention. With a few days off, she doesn’t have to get up early for once, and something tells her the boys will be glad of a lie-in tomorrow as well.

Deep down, she doesn’t really expect Face to come back downstairs. With the comforting voice of Hannibal on the phone, and his own exhaustion still clinging, she expects he’ll head straight to bed, and she wonders if she should make him up another hot water bottle or two. With a chest full of bruises as well as the chill of the Chicago night, he might be doubly glad of the warmth, and she’s just decided that she’ll give him another five minutes when she hears unexpected footsteps on the stairs. Too light to be Scooter’s, and sure enough a smiling Templeton Peck pokes his head around the door.

“Hey,” he says softly, crossing the room and settling into the armchair.

“Hey yourself.” She watches as he gets comfortable, folding one long leg beneath himself and resting one hand lightly onto his chest, before she asks, “How’s Hannibal?”

The most adorable blush spreads over his cheeks, a pleasant change to the previously pale tint of his skin, and he coughs once before he replies. “He’s good, thanks. Boring meetings and too much politics for him.” Yes, she’s sure that’s what they’ve been talking about for the last half hour. Politics. But before she can make a teasing comment, he smiles a broad, genuine smile, all white teeth, tired blue eyes lighting up. “He thinks he might be able to get away tomorrow afternoon, catch a late flight out here.”

“That’s wonderful news!” And it really is – seeing the state of Scooter and Face, she really wants to get her hands on the colonel, even if it is just to lock him and Face in a room together for both their sakes. “So much sooner than you thought.”

“Yeah.” Face’s wide grin fades to something more relaxed, eyes shining now, and she can see again just how much he’s missing Hannibal. Can see just how much he loves him. “It’ll be good.” And then he yawns, widely, one hand over his mouth while the other flexes where it rests over his bruised chest.

“You should be in bed, Templeton,” she scolds gently. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I know, but…” He can’t quite meet her gaze, suddenly focussing intently on the black and white film she’s found to watch. 

Of course, she realises, his bad dreams. Talking about what happened, what little he remembers, that won’t instantly make those disappear, no matter how much she wishes it could. “You and Scooter talked, am I right?” she asks tentatively, still wary of pushing him even after the way he leaned into her embrace earlier.

A soft sigh before he answers. “Yeah, we talked. Think I finally convinced him this isn’t his fault, and he talked a bit about his protective instincts.” This time his eyes do find hers and he smiles again. “You raised him well, Mama, you know that, right?”

She nods once, acknowledging the compliment while hearing the undercurrent of longing there, the longing of the little boy Face once was, a little boy who never had a mother or a father to raise him and love him. “How you feeing now?” she asks instead. “About everything that happened?”

He shrugs, then winces again. She wishes he wouldn’t do that. “Like you said before. I know I’m fine, I’m safe, and these bruises will all heal up. These things happen.” A long pause, before he whispers, “I’ll get there.”

“You will,” she reassures him as warmly as she can. He frowns at her as she stands up, and she quickly adds, “I’m gonna make you some warm milk, baby. Nothing more soothing before bed. Trust me; Mama knows how to ward off those nightmares.”

He catches her hand as she passes his chair, and she can feel his strength as he squeezes once, whispering, “Thanks, Mama.”

By the time she’s heated the milk – skimmed, of course, with cinnamon rather than chocolate on top for Face, who is always so very careful about what he puts into his sculptured body – and returned to the living room, her boy has fallen asleep in his chair. Head tilted back into the cushions, eyes closed loosely, lips slightly parted, and that hand slipped down from his chest to rest on his stomach, Face looks at peace for the first time since he arrived. 

She stands over him for a long moment, smiling softly to herself. She knows she should wake him, send him upstairs to his own bed, but he looks so much like a little boy that she really doesn’t have the heart. Besides, if his nightmares do come back, this way she can be here for him if he needs her. She sets his warm milk down on the table before taking the fleecy throw from the back of the sofa, draping it gently over his long body. He stirs only a little as she tucks it carefully around his shoulders, mumbling something indistinct before he settles again, and she settles herself back into the sofa to watch her film and watch over her boy.

* * *

The laughter and good-natured teasing from the kitchen makes her smile as she potters around in the living room, pulling out the old scrabble set and blowing the dust from the top of the box. The boys have declared the time has come for a scrabble war, and she knows from previous experience that the teasing will get far more heated before one or the other is declared victor – she also knows from previous experience that she is hopelessly outmatched at this game, though they’ve already spent an hour playing gin rummy, which is far more her sort of game. She took great pleasure in the look of surprise in Face’s eyes the first time she’d beaten him, and Scooter had laughed long and loud.

“Someone you can’t cheat, Faceman!” he’d laughed, then the challenge had really been on. She’d managed to spot one or two of his more obvious cheats, but she knew a few tricks herself and the scores had been about even when all was said and done. 

They’ve taken things slowly today after all having a long lie-in, just as she had expected. Face had slept peacefully in the chair by her side for nearly two hours the night before, until suddenly, just as her film was drawing to a close, he had jerked awake with a gasp, eyes wild and struggling to get out from under the blanket. She had caught one flailing hand, letting him cling to her for a long while as he fought to get his breathing under control, the flickering light from the black and white movie making his face seem even paler than previously. Sooner than she had thought, he had calmed down and started apologising for disturbing her.

“Sorry, Mama,” he’d gasped, still holding her hand tight. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Your film…”

“Don’t be silly, baby, the film doesn’t matter.” He’d shaken his head in protest but she’d carried on, “I’ve seen it before, and you’re far more important than any old movie. You’re safe, Templeton. It’s all alright.” Face hadn’t wanted to talk about his nightmare but he had taken her up on the offer of a hot water bottle and a fresh glass of warm milk, before she eventually shooed him upstairs to his bed.

Later, when she’d crawled into her own bed, she’d been determined to keep one ear open in case his nightmares returned yet again. Instead, she had fallen into such a deep sleep that nothing woke her until late the next morning. Hearing the house still in silence, the familiar sounds of Scooter’s snores rumbling through the thin walls upstairs, she had been convinced that she was the first one to rise, pleased Face had managed to sleep the whole night through. But when she had opened her door, she had been surprised and worried to see Scooter’s door standing wide open, the room still in darkness, and the guest room door ajar once more.

Distressed to think that Face had apparently spent yet another night plagued by his bad dreams, she had timidly poked her head around the door and been amazed by what she found, heart melting at the sight of her two boys. Both Scooter and Face were crashed out on the bed, Face beneath the blankets and with his head on the pillow, while Scooter was on top of the covers, top and tail with his brother, socked feet resting near Face’s head, wrapped in what appeared to be the duvet from his own bed. Both men were fast asleep, lying on their backs, matching expressions of peace on two very different faces, and she had pulled the door quietly closed behind her, smiling to herself as she went about her morning routine, already planning the big breakfast she would cook up for them both when they eventually woke.

The next few hours had been wonderful, calm and relaxed and easy, and she had just revelled in the thrill of having her son back with her, safe and sound, as well as Face’s genial company. The new day coupled with their sleepover seemed to let both Scooter and Face forget some of the stresses of their last mission, and their big breakfast had stretched into something approaching lunch, as she just kept cooking and both men just kept eating, bacon and eggs and fried bread and everything else in between, while they talked about anything and nothing. 

Both Hannibal and Murdock had phoned to check in, and she’d spoken to both of them briefly – the pilot sounded like he was truly having the time of his life, though of course he couldn’t tell her too much about whatever he was testing, while Hannibal had kept his conversation short, still hoping to rush through his last meetings and fly out to them later. She had been able to hear the worry in his voice when he asked after Face, and she had reassured him as best she could with Face standing right next to her.

Despite the chill in the air, they had all wanted some fresh air after such a lazy morning, so she had taken the boys downtown, where they had walked along the shore of Lake Michigan and out to Navy Pier. At first she had been on tenterhooks, worried that being so close to the water might trigger Face’s bad memories, but he’d picked up on her concerns – of course he’d noticed her sideways glances, conman and observer that he is – and been quick to reassure her. 

“It’s not the water, I think.” Face had tried, haltingly, to put into words what his dreams were about. Out here, in the weak winter sunlight with the cold wind blowing the cobwebs away, she supposed a warm swimming pool in Africa seemed far away indeed. “It’s more about not really remembering the fight. Not knowing how I got trapped, and the fact I couldn’t get to the surface. About not being able to breathe, rather than actually drowning.” He’d stood on the shore a long moment, keen blue eyes trained on the horizon, scarf blowing in the wind, looking so much like a model she’d longed to take a photo. Then he’d shaken himself, turning back to them with a small smile. “No, it’s not the water. I love the water.”

He’d grown up in LA, she knew that, and she could certainly imagine him spending as much time at the beach as he possibly could. His near-permanent tan suggested he was more than just a casual sun worshipper, though of course right now he was wrapped up tightly in several layers of sweaters and scarves, not to mention a heavy overcoat. Scooter, in just a thick sweater, had soon lightened the mood by starting to tell a story about the last time the four of them were in Hawaii, when Face had apparently decided to try to teach Hannibal how to surf, painting such a vivid image of their tall colonel falling repeatedly into the water that she just had to laugh. 

Both her boys had kept her entertained until the chill started to get to them all, and her old legs started to get tired, despite Scooter and Face having one arm each. So now, with takeout from the Cheesecake Factory – the one place Scooter insists on visiting every time he comes home to her, which always turns him into an over-excited five year old boy all over again – they’d come back to her tiny house, card games and board games the obvious choice for a lazy afternoon, until they both come with her later that evening to the shelter where she volunteers. 

She thinks it will be good for both of them to help out for a night – Scooter can use up some of those big brother instincts of his working with the teenagers, something he’s done before to great success. He always makes a real impression on the streetwise youngsters who hang around the shelter, sharing some of his experiences both growing up and in the army, though never lecturing them, and she’s certain more than one young life has been turned around after a talking to from her boy. Every time she goes to volunteer, there is always someone who asks about her son, though they know him as BA of course, rather than Scooter. She smiles now, to think of that crazy army nickname of his – he’ll always be Scooter to her, always.

Face has never done any volunteering, he’s said, though he’d asked quite a lot of very specific questions about the shelter, about what activities they did, what services they provided, if there were overnight facilities – too many questions to back up his statement that he wasn’t sure what to expect. She’d noticed Scooter paying close attention to his friend while she had patiently answered his questions, which only enhanced her suspicions that Face had probably spent some time in a shelter or two himself in his youth, and again her heart ached for the difficult childhood he’d been through. She’s certain he’ll make a good impression tonight, though, all charm and bright white smile – more than a few hearts will be broken by this charmer tonight, she thinks with a smile of her own.

No more word from Hannibal about being able to escape from Washington, although Face had been under the impression the colonel wouldn’t arrive until very late tonight, if in fact he could manage to get away at all. The shelter will keep Face’s mind off his absent lover a little longer, at least, though Scooter has been continuing to hover without being obvious about it, keeping a close eye on his brother. She knows Face is far too observant not to have noticed, but the fact that the young lieutenant hasn’t told his teammate to back off yet tells her he is maybe glad of the attention still, their last mission still in the back of both their minds.

“You want coffee, Mama? Or tea?” Scooter’s voice from the kitchen startles her out of her thoughts as she starts to set out the scrabble set. The boys are making drinks and fetching the last of the cheesecake before the scrabble war begins.

“Just tea, thanks, baby,” she calls back, when there is suddenly a knock at the door. “I’ll get that.”

She moves quickly through to the hall, checking her hair instinctively in the mirror as she does so. The frosting on the door conceals the details of whoever is on her front step – a tall figure, clearly in a bulky jacket of some sort. Salesman, most likely, she thinks with a frown as she opens the door slowly, prepared to shoo them away, only to see –

“Oh! Hann - ” The colonel raises a quick finger to his lips before she can finish, pale blue eyes twinkling a little, and she bites her lip to stop her instinctive cry of surprise, turning it into a wide grin instead.

“Happy belated birthday, Mama,” he whispers, pulling her into a hug right there on the doorstep, her tiny frame completely swamped by his long limbs, and she wraps her arms around his strong back in response. “I managed to get away early.”

“So good to see you,” she whispers into his chest, pulling back a fraction and craning her neck back until she can look him in the eye. “You okay? After everything?”

Nodding, he offers her a tired smile, eyes already searching the hall behind her. Looking for Face, she knows, and she doesn’t mind that at all – that’s exactly as it should be, after everything they’ve been through. “I’m just fine, thanks, Mama. Is he - ?”

“Kitchen,” she tells him softly, standing to the side long enough to let him slip inside and taking his duffel bag from his shoulder as he passes. “Go on, baby.”

Turns out, he doesn’t make it that far. Noises behind her even before she has closed the door, and she turns to see both Face and Scooter in the kitchen doorway. “John?” Face breathes, then takes two enormous steps as Hannibal does the same, and they are wrapped up in each other’s arms right there in the hallway.

For a minute she just stands and watches them, smiling, even as her baby boy does the same from the far end of the hall. They don’t kiss – never have, in front of her – but Face hides his head against Hannibal’s neck, while the colonel buries his nose into his lover’s soft curls, bodies pressed as close together as they possibly can, arms wrapped tightly around each other. As always, she marvels at how perfectly they fit together, these two tall strong men, and how she never saw it the first time she met them. So much love on display, and then she feels wrong watching them, as if she is intruding. They deserve this moment together, alone, and she slides carefully past them, shooing Scooter back into the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind them, resting Hannibal’s bag against the wall.

They stand there, mother and son together, and she smiles broadly at her boy. So much love in her heart right now, she honestly feels she could die happy, and Scooter seems to feel the same, a rare grin splitting his face as he pulls her to him. Standing there in the circle of his strong arms, she feels safe and protected and, above all, loved in return.

“Okay, Mama?” he murmurs into the silence of the kitchen.

“Yes, Bosco. I’m more than okay. How about you?” He lets her loose as she moves automatically over to the side, where Scooter and Face had gotten about halfway through making their drinks, fetching another mug out for Hannibal. “You all gonna be okay?”

He comes to help her, bringing the milk from the fridge, and they work side by side quietly. “Don’t think this’ll change me,” he confesses. “Still feel like I gotta protect them. They all got my back, so I got to have theirs.”

“I don’t want it to change you, baby.” She takes the sugar from his outstretched hand, going up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek lightly. “I love you just the way you are. You got yourself three brothers there; those two lovebirds and that crazy pilot of yours, wherever he is right now.” 

Scooter chuckles at that image, then promptly shudders. “Wherever he is, glad I ain’t up there flyin’ with him.” 

She has to laugh at that too. Her boy and his fear of flying – only in Hannibal Smith’s crazy team. But she doesn’t want to let this moment go too soon, taking his wrist to hold him still when he starts to turn away. “Nothing wrong with wanting to protect them all,” she tells him quietly but firmly, holding his dark gaze. “Just don’t beat yourself up when something happens that you couldn’t have stopped. You can’t be there all the time, for all of them. You got to do your job. And sometimes you got to let them be there for you instead.”

It’s almost as if she can literally feel the last tension drain away from her son in that instant, and he smiles softly at her before nodding slowly. “Thank you, Mama,” he tells her, leaning down to kiss her once on each cheek, and once on her forehead. 

“Love you, Scooter.” She squeezes his wrist once before letting him loose, grabbing her tea and one of the coffee mugs. “Now, let’s go get those two lovebirds and get this scrabble war underway.” 

Scooter leads the way out of the kitchen, shouting at Hannibal and Face to “Get a room, already!” though she can hear the fondness in his voice as they all fall into obviously well-worn routines, teasing back and forth, good-natured threats and abuse as they all trail into the living room, Face’s hand held tightly in Hannibal’s the whole time. Just her and Scooter for the shelter tonight, she thinks with a smile as she moves to join them, Hannibal and Face needing their own time to talk. She’s sure the colonel has probably had a few bad dreams himself these last few nights, and she’ll be there for him if he needs her. Though, looking at them all together now, laughing and joking easily, perhaps time and each other’s company is all the help they really need.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Panda77777 at ATeam-Prompts, for a BA/Face prompt, all about Big Brother BA being overprotective and looking out for Face. I changed the prompt around a bit to make it H/F instead - sorry again Panda!


End file.
